Secret Fanfiction
by SACAMAS
Summary: Do you think maybe we're a bit weird Alex?


**SECRET FANFICTION**

Doctor John Watson toyed with the plastic handgun, swivelling it around his pointer like a retarded yoyo. "I still can't believe the weirdo fell for it," he chuckled, a taste of guilt hanging on his tongue. He licked his lips as if to wipe it away, and tossed the prop aside. A cat miaowed at the flyscreen, John taking his cue and letting Toby the tabby back indoors.

As if the two were connected by a taut string, the front door swung inwards. John's live-in stepped through the frame in fitted suit, tidy hair and smooth skin. A visible grin stuck to James Moriarty's face. It was easy to smile when you're staying alive and well.

"And he's home." John brushed the air in slight celebration. It had been Moriarty's final working day at his co-owned automotive joint, the shopfront to be closed as of the weekend. Well, the shop _was_ just a front for his real life, an excuse to move to Australia. In reality he made puzzles. Riddles. He made hand gestures in conversations and he made _love_. He made scones and he made paintings.

Stretching in for a welcome-home-hug, Moriarty placed his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. "I'll warm you," James Moriarty flirted into Watson's ear. "I'll warm the cockles of your heart!... out of you..." John blushed pink as a quiver flew across his lips. Moriarty cocked back his head, raised his eyebrows, and left it at that, walking off to make a pot of English Breakfast. A no nonsense drink. The pair shared their tea, enjoyed the News together, and switched it off after the weather broadcast.

"The humidity's good," noted Moriarty. "Fancy some dinner?"

"I fancy some... yes, _dinner_." The blush subtly returned to John's cheeks as he fumbled his sentence.

"Good, because I fancy dinner. Nothing fancy though." Moriarty tugged on Watson's woollen sleeve and they slipped out of the house.

They travelled on the 112, down through Brunswick Street and the past the parcels of furnished grass that dotted the suburb.

In the CBD they headed to a quaint public house for dinner. The bar at the Dickens Tavern was full of long, jungly beards; and beers with foam beards down their fronts; and barely anything else. Each wall was ornamented with artwork and mock photographs of Charles, with select quotations littering the tablecloths. "I have great expectations for this place, John," Moriarty said grinning. "It better not be another bleak house like the last pub we ventured into!" He recalled the worker's club who presented John with a burnt steak and Jim with a bloody one – they had both ordered medium. "Lest we fall on hard times again,"

"Here's the twist," Watson retorted cheekily, "I've been here before _by myself_ and it is was a perfectly fine meal. The draught is good, the cow is cooked - nicely -, so I think you'll find it just adequate. If you have any complaints, dinner's on me."

But John never needed to fess up for the bill. The couple shared a pleasant meal, bantering about the literature that hung around them and mundane things like the entertainment value of Indian sitcoms.

The city was unusually quiet for a night time. There was no rush to get home, so they walked the long way to their destination. Moriarty embraced the quietness and slipped his hand into Watson's, finger by delicate finger. They folded their palms together and, clasping for dear love if not life, walked in peace. They held off the hundreds of loose strands of conversation they could have picked up again, threading instead their fingers. Their hands were the knot at the centre of one of Moriarty's fine woollen scarves.

They exchanged a brief, deep glance and smiled independently. Wandering in happy silence until their empty tram stop, Jim leant over a placed a delicate kiss on John's cheek.

"I'll warm you," he whispered.

They journeyed on home. John Watson in his oversized cardigan, James Moriarty in his dapper suit, kissing in Northcote, Victoria.

**THE END‽**

_I wrote about the Charles Dickens Tavern before I went to Melbourne and visited the Charles Dickens Tavern. My imagined version is slightly better than the real one. I hope you like Dickens puns. Also I got sidetracked rewatching Reichenbach. This is a pretty terrible fic. x_


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